


Survivor's Guilt

by foggedclear



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Character Study, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Language, Fix-It of Sorts, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Other, Worldbuilding, beast forms, but after that we're going off cannon baybe, but we'll go through everyone's emotions bc thats fun, celestial realm fuckery.... get into it, dealing with character backstories, im expanding upon the magic used in this universe because theres so much cool shit that could happen, kind of belphegor centric, major spoilers for chapter 16, probably no parings .... yet, second person mc, someone get everyone in the house of lamentation a therapist, there'll be some fluff at some point but like... we gotta deal with some shit first, unnamed MC, we say FUCK in this house, whoa there dont cut yourself on all that edge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25407928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggedclear/pseuds/foggedclear
Summary: His first time experiencing the acrid, harsh sting of guilt was before he fell.Belphegor hated thinking about then. Hated the smell of smoke and the ruffling of feathers, even millennia later. That was one of the last times he’d let himself shed tears, salt coating his dry lips as he screamed at his twin across the clouds. The explosion of shame and grief in his chest had left a gaping crater, one that he had never been able to fill no matter how hard he tried.Belphegor found humor in ripping out other pieces of himself after that.or, alternatively, the Belphegor redemption arc that we all wanted but never got
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Survivor's Guilt

Guilt was a familiar friend to Belphegor.

  
His time spent in the Celestial Realm was remorse-free. He would peacefully lay under the crystal trees, purposefully making himself ignorant of the goings-on in the Ardent Castle in exchange for a short nap, but he’d been a bonafide guardian back then. There was nothing wrong with taking a break after his work was done, even if he ignored his siblings in favor of some solace. Now, he looked back on those times and found the memories saturated with regret.

  
His first time experiencing the acrid, harsh sting of guilt was before he fell.

  
Belphegor hated thinking about then. Hated the smell of smoke and the ruffling of feathers, even millennia later. That was one of the last times he’d let himself shed tears, salt coating his dry lips as he screamed at his twin across the clouds. The explosion of shame and grief in his chest had left a gaping crater, one that he had never been able to fill no matter how hard he tried.

  
Belphegor found humor in ripping out other pieces of himself after that.

  
Guilt had become a steady ache over the centuries. He learned to ignore it and replace his emotions with some other activity that could take his mind off things. Sex did the trick, for a time. Indulging himself in the carnal desires he’d never explored before was a disgusting habit he kept up for years. Material things were next. Belphegor remembered all the times Lucifer scolded him for the insane hoard he’d attained, how he fought back to keep all of his meaningless treasures. He remembered screaming at Mammon whenever he found a particular valuable missing. The constant need to protect what he had claimed led to asperity. It plagued him like his newest sibling, yet the wrath never fully took control. Somewhere in there, guilt still held the strings to every movement he made.

  
Eventually, Belphegor had wanted to stop moving. He fully embraced his new title, preferring the silence of sleep and mindless activities even more than before. Diavolo had pulled him aside once at a meeting, concern written on his handsome features.

  
“You’re asleep during counsel now, Belphegor.”

  
“And?” Belphegor leaned against the wall, arms crossed and disapproving glower on full display. “I doubt you’re going to kick me out of the club.”

  
Diavolo sighed, his shoulders falling too low for those of a prince. “No, even if I wanted to I couldn’t. But that’s not what this is about. I’m here to talk about you.”

  
A snort escaped his nose. “I don’t want a part of your shitty therapy.”

  
“That may be so, but I will at least leave you with a warning.”

“A warning?” Belphegor raised an eyebrow. “Whatever am I missing that you feel the need to warn me about?”

  
Diavolo stepped closer. His expression was tense and oddly unreadable as he said, “Don’t let your sin overtake you. You’re still Belphegor.”

  
The first thing that Belphegor thought of after that was how ridiculous the prince’s “warning” was. Of course he’d still be Belphegor, but his very being was dedicated to his sin. He wasn’t named the Avatar of Sloth without reason. Still, something about the conversation continued to irk him, even years later.

  
Guilt wasn’t a comfortable companion. It settled into his intercostal space, a chronic creature that reminded Belphegor of its presence with the occasional squeeze of his lungs. Sometimes it clawed its way up his spine, tearing at anything and everything it could reach until it could wrap itself around his brain. It’s fangs pierced his amygdala and injected its venom of choice, a vile concoction of violence and fear.

  
Belphegor preferred to keep that from happening, knowing every action he took while in that state would only feed the parasite controlling his brain and leave him in a never ending cycle.

It happened again.

* * *

In all of his years of living, Mammon had never felt time pass as slowly as it was. None of his other brothers had commented on the way he was practically wearing a groove into the ornate carpet, each of them too preoccupied with their own thoughts. It had been eons since all of them were equally as pensive like that.

  
His pacing had started when Lucifer was still there. Fury wasn’t an uncommon look on the eldest, but the all-encompassing fire that raged in his eyes was something Mammon hadn’t seen since the fall. Lucifer had only emitted a sharp “ _stay home_ ” before turning on his heel, wings already readying themselves for a flight as he exited.

  
Asmodeus had been the first to break down.

  
A sick bitterness rose in Mammon’s throat as he watched his younger brother. Asmodeus had already been crying, but Lucifer’s departure was what made him fold himself into the sofa and sob openly. Mammon hated him for being able to get his emotions out so easily. Why couldn’t he cry? He stomped his feet harder to try to jump start some type of reaction in his empty chest, but it did nothing. He stuffed his balled up fists in the pockets of his jacket to keep them from shaking.

  
“How long has it been.” Leviathan asked darkly. His eyes were glued on the screen of his D.D.D., which was blank. The device had probably died some time ago.

  
“Two hours.” Came Asmodeus’ hoarse response. He rested his head on Leviathan’s shoulder, mascara melted around his red-rimmed eyes. He’d finally stopped crying, perhaps he had run out of tears, Mammon thought. A shame he couldn’t partake in them either.

  
He stopped in his steps.

  
"Mammon?” Beelzebub voiced. His sudden change in behavior must have caught the attention of his younger brother seated on the floor.

  
“I’m tired.”

  
Beelzebub nodded in agreement, eyes trailing his brother as he took a seat next to him. Mammon looked up at him, noting his usual stoic expression that had cemented itself on his face. Beelzebub’s lips twitched, letting Mammon know it was a front. Both of them looked away from each other at the same time.  
Mammon wasn’t entirely sure of the reason why the four of them had remained in the common room. Satan was the only one who had left after Lucifer, the air around him ill with malcontent. Not long after his leave was when they heard the sounds of destruction from above. None of them went to check on him, even when the deep howls started.

  
Deep down, they all wished they could do the same thing.

  
The silence in the room had turned viscous again. Mammon could feel it entering through his nose and forcing its way down his throat, a constant threat of soundless suffocation. The quiet had been a recent development, what with Asmodeus’ tears and the thunder of carnage upstairs coming to a halt. The thick hush that had blanketed the house after that was worse than anything.

  
“You should take that off.” Beelzebub’s low whisper startled Mammon out of his thoughts. He was pointing at Mammon’s jacket, the brown and white leather stained with scarlet. Mammon just shrugged.

  
“‘S fine.”

  
“I can smell it.” Beelzebub said. The slight crack in his voice made Mammon wince. He might not have noticed it if he wasn’t sitting right next to him.

  
“You’re right. I…” He looked down at himself, noticing just _how much_ of your blood was on his clothes. Dried red coated the front of his grey shirt. His hands were encrusted with rust. The ruddy taste of iron tinged his tongue. He didn’t know when he had stopped registering your scent that coated him, but now that his attention was back on it that’s all he could smell. He stood suddenly, hands back into fists.

  
“...I’m going to shower.”

  
No one stopped him as he left.

  
The clicks of his boots on the dark marble stairs were muffled as soon as he hit the carpet of the hall. He tried to keep his thoughts focused on his shower. Mammon would’ve given anything in the world right then to sit under the scalding hot water and just let himself _forget_ for a while. He wouldn’t mind staying in there until his human form peeled away and left him a husk.

  
He decided he would take the time to scrub himself away, bit by bit.

  
_CRRRRRRRRRAAAACK!_

  
Mammon’s thoughts were broken by the sound of splintering wood. He spun on his heel, magic flaring like the hair on the back of his neck. He threw his gaze around to find something, _anything_ , but nothing in the hall around him was out of the ordinary. He started to head back towards the common room before the guttural sound of a vicious animal met his ears and stopped him in his tracks.

  
The pain and rage of it was instantly recognizable, having played a cacophony throughout the house earlier. Mammon moved further down the hallway, making a sharp left to face the source.

  
The door to Satan’s room was battered and shredded. The thick wood was broken and clawed, mimicking teeth before the dark maw of the bedroom beyond. Carefully painted runes that had once decorated the door frame had fallen crumpled to the floor, whatever spells they had pertained to shattered. Another animalistic roar ripped through the air, quickly mingled with the ruffle of feathers and slams that reverberated throughout the floor.

  
Mammon steeled himself before he approached, stopping only a few feet away. He kept the magic he had summoned moments earlier at the ready, letting it tingle at his bloodied fingertips. This was going to be _far_ from pretty, and in all honesty Mammon was dreading confronting him.

  
He peered through the dark veil, taking in what he could near the entrance. Mammon had expected the annihilation, the scatter of singed and torn novels, the broken glass and spell items littering the floor. What he didn’t expect, though, was the thick, tar-like substance that was pooling around and bubbling, making a slight _hiss_ as it started to eat through whatever substance it happened to be upon. Scorch marks surrounded the spots that were on the bare floor. He made a mental note to stay very clear of it.

  
Mammon took a step over the threshold, glass crunching under his heel as he surveyed the damage. Curtains had been ripped, small fires crackled in piles of books, chairs and shelves destroyed by an emotional outburst. It was a testament to Satan’s current level of self control that he hadn’t brought the destruction outside of his personal belongings.

  
“Hey. Uh, you in here?” _Idiot_ , he berated mentally, of course he was still in his room. The huff of air from further inside the room confirmed it.

  
“Maybe you should go downstairs. Kinda, chill out for a while-”

  
Mammon was cut off by a snarl, sharp and piercing. He held up his hands. “Ok, ok. You don’t gotta leave.”

  
Satan’s response was sepulchral and raspy, taking on the acidic tones of demonic. It surrounded the room, omnipresent, leaving Mammon clueless as to where he might actually be.

  
“ _You’re covered in what he did._ ”

  
“I was on the way to take a shower, actually.” He responded in kind, letting the rarely used syllables dance over his tongue. Mammon always hated the way demonic reverberated in his throat.

  
The responding hiss brought a chill up his spine.

  
“ _Get out._ ”

“Yeah. Yeah, ok. I’ll see you.”

* * *

Satan didn’t watch his brother leave.

  
Seeing your blood again had snapped a sinew in his mind. The scarlet tainted his vision, covering it entirely until all he could see was you, you, _you_. Belphegor cradling you in his arms as a mock savior.

  
Belphegor had laughed when Satan had pinned him to the floor in a flurry of feathers and contorted limbs. Satan would instantly rip out his vocal cords if he ever got another chance, though he doubted he would.

  
No, Satan thought. He’d make his own goddamn chance.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @foggedclear
> 
> god I havent written a chaptered fic in years please pray for me


End file.
